012216
—
we are people
trapped inside stolen hearts and minds
squabbling over stolen lands on borrowed time
occupy hallowed ground, thieves
take directly from the Source, and
She always comes back around to collect, eventually
by hook, by crook and by force

we are people
baring broken hearts and souls
like smiling rows of snarling teeth
courage didn’t abandon us to grief
we abandoned her first, following
the disintegration of solidarity
expect the worst, watch it unfold

we are people
on parade with emotional implants
borrowed thoughts, tired rants
replacing the inspired action of praxis
like a retired chant relaxes
the realm of the spiritual
material collapses, leaving us alone

we are people without home
without food, without water
without air, without space
without silence, without peace
without shelter, without place
succumbing to the seduction of
trauma-induced, technology-produced
multimediated misery

a well-engineered excess of misguided “success”
transmutes our compliant screams, it seems
while we drown violently, in effect
void of life without ever dying
we are people, anymore…
…aren’t we?
—
A Poem for Ammon Bundy

070515
—
Fireworks can be big, noisy, beautiful.
Full of color, an explosive dance of chemical-driven artistic energy.
Such fireworks are always forward facing.
They happen with grace and beauty…
…with warning.
They indicate an event to celebrate
or mark a loss worthy of our mourning.

Fireworks can also be gunshots, grenades, mortars, mines and bombs.
This one close, that one far away.
Fire in front, behind, from the side.
A pop and whistle bullet to graze your face,
the exit wound on the head of your friend.
Blood splatter and concussion waves, felt.
A grenade blowing off a limb.
A promise of terror, a question of when.
Conditioning adrenal glands with randomized efficiency
Fireworks can be the enemy, surrounding me, closing in.

The difference between fireworks has nothing to do with legality.
It takes a special kind of alienating sociopathy to create–
and revel in–echoes and parodies of trauma, loss and terror
to condition the next wave of children
to the sounds they hear
to the sights they will see
as they fight for the entitled right of this society’s elite–
once removed from the pillage, plunder and rape they crave
to keep the rest of the world on retainer as a fearful slave.

To everyone who participates in turning a neighborhood into a simulated warzone: FUCK YOU.
On behalf of all soldiers with PTSD whom you terrorize: FUCK YOU.
On behalf of the dogs and cats and other animals whom you terrorize: FUCK YOU.
On behalf of my own body, fatigued and hung over from nothing more than a terrifying night spiked by fight or flight: Fuck you.

I used to say, “I hate the 4th of July.”
But I no longer blame the day
because I love every day of life. However,
I hate the ways so many behave:
The drunken entitlement of narcissistic zombies
who let loose the fearful squawk of chicken hawks
from the plush comfort of their roost.
Who give toast to another imperialist war
from those who’ve never been
to those who will never leave.

Dear elite and empty minions:
Enjoy your ‘murrica day
behind bars, or in a hospital bed
with thoughts and feelings of grief and pain that come only
with imprisoning captivity, 3rd degree burns and fewer limbs.
Life, eventually, will beat empathy back into you
reaping and serving what you have sewn
straight from the pounding hearts of your unseen victims.

060615
—
(life implies)
work to destroy
our casual, ubiquitous relationship
to addictive colonial commodities
–exorphic tools of control such as
sugar, grains, chocolate, coffee
the so-called “English breakfast” tea
and the rest of the global spice trade–
to watch every privileged life fade from view…

accept no temporary substitutes
like machines that run obediently on juice
and when the juice runs low
run back to the chattel
just a stone’s throw away
prisoners of an imprisoned
privileged few work the fields
night and day, nothing new
now hidden
behind the global technological veil

041810
—
when you and i first met we were all smiles
we danced in the sun and walked for long miles
beneath the moonlit night sky
we thought no such thing of goodbye
like fools on trial where the rules don’t apply

friends turned foes whispered rumors about us
love turned suspicion, doubt grew into mistrust
cold anxiety and fear gave us wrong advice
hearts filled with lust, carve and serve by the slice
our short loneliness grew long as we paid the price

last sunday i woke from my sleep without hope
fever dreams, nightmares sent me spiraling
i crashed and i broke from the shock all alone
harsh air made me choke as i fled from your throne
through landscapes laden with guilty white bones
my feet sent me wandering, thinking of home

i was waiting for you on the tracks and you came,
smokestack of trouble chained to your back
it drowned out the sunshine,
we said goodbye to the day
and now we’re running away

lives left behind on the make
too little give, too much take
and in our wake how they’ve grown
these same old seeds that we’ve sewn

070710
—
we all play our parts in the game
bent hardened links in the chain
some of us ride neutral class
sipping suicide on the train
in comfort finding others to blame
some of us are hog-tied up
to struggle on our backs, we lay
in desperate wait like deer
spread across the tracks
for the light drawing near

inside our oil dark tunnel vision
steam-powered industrial precision
destructive engines of creation
burned so many times before,
now numb to that once-familiar sensation
drowned sorrow in the alcohols of negation,
so much pain
real men withdraw in isolation

once pure, now corrupt we are
the end of the line,
the bridge is gone
and we’re all out of luck
how many have you seen self-destruct?
these words are my last spasm and
this voice is my last breath
because it only matters
how old we are
when we stand
the same distance from death

032515
—
stumbling numbly like a bumblebee
tumbling drunkenly between
blossoms on the tree

except the tree feels more
like cold steel and concrete
where blossoms begin to take shape
as square buildings of busyness
gleefully serving me
any of the poisonous pollens
and nectars that they make

at a certain point
in human prehistory
the appearance of civilized energy
upset a fundamental balance between
give and take

i try to track the myriad ways in which civilization levies its burdensome tax on life:

i pay once to play

twice for the resulting addiction to bring me back
down on my knees another day

three times to steal my health and autonomy
leaving me lonely, struggling on a path of (co)dependency
desperation holding sway

four times to turn
my friends and family into stranger
enemies divide and conquer, separate
alienate and stray

five times to institutionalize
this ubiquitous insanity
once intolerable, normalized
now the guiding light of life
here to stay

six times to close my eyes
to the process and pathology of the civilized
see no evil
hear no evil
speak no evil
let us pray

seven times for suicide

eight times for those of us who survive
smile and laugh the agony away

on the ninth i blame myself
— onslaught thoroughly justified —
for my failure to thrive through all the pain

the tenth time i found we pay
to close down, destroy, disincentivize
options available for us to choose once more
honest, liberated lives…

so we, shadow, slip and melt back into the fray

i look around at my fellow pollinators
falling toward the ground
like rain drops from the sky
hang my head in helpless shame
wonder why
and remember to reach beyond my given name
put myself inside of them again
intrinsically allied
as they die

so, then, do i

the mournful salt streams down my face
with the force of gravity from my eyes
when i realize how
— for most of our existence — we
now subservient technology
used to fly
and gave our lives to the controlling pen of history:
agriculture hierarchy
fortune, fear and fame.